The coda continues. The tail continues. A straight line, even when not visible, always continues.

Perspective, which is also a straight line, also continues, but not always to where we think it is going.

However, as we look down this straight line, to the vanishing point, we ourselves are a point on this straight line.

At each moment we are a point in the time and space of life, which can be seen as a line, but not only (a circle, a snake-biting-its-tail, a Russian roulette, a jack-in-a-box, a box of chocolates, a wedding cake, a ziggurat, a Nasdaq graph, or a FTSE100 one, or even a Dow Jones one).

But this line (or not, but it matters little here whether it is or not) always has an endpoint (which, in this case, is not a vanishing point): a mausoleum, or something of the sort, maybe of a slightly smaller scale. Who has been to Lenin’s mausoleum will know that not all mausoleums are the same (some are more equal than others), the colour might change, as might the size, not to mention the content…but is that really Lenin? He seems to be sweating. He seems to be made of wax. But if that really is Lenin is of little importance. One thing is certain, death is certain, the future is not.

The coda continues and it is also the final phase. A Montra ends. Vasco Futscher continues what A Montra has been doing over these last two years, but, at the same time, he also brings this phase to an end. A phase that closes a phase. And then?

What now?

Perspective is a funny thing: from afar things seem very small, and they get bigger as they get closer, until you see them the size they actually are. Or maybe even bigger than that, or at least that’s how it seems in comparison. It’s relative.This change of distance and scale can be disquieting: what is far away does not concern me, it does not bother me, it does not threaten me, but once, without me even noticing, it gets closer…it’s a question of perspective once again.

The work that Vasco created for this farewell (if it is what this is) of A Montra is also about perspective and disquiet, that uncanny disquiet caused by something familiar but at the same time unfamiliar. That disquiet caused by recognising that there is something not entirely right with our perspective, but not knowing exactly what, also because, other than our own perspective (that purely visual one) we can have no other.

We hover around the problem without finding a solution, we tumble about in bed without finding peace. But here, too, it is a question of context, of framing. I will not be able to see that object, behind that other one on the television, by moving a little to the right.

In its own turn, Vasco’s work always seem to be revelatory, of structures, and of the foundations that support them, but also of their fragility, in this, our so-called Old Continent.

But there are older places on Earth.What do you mean? Wasn’t the Earth all created at the same time?

And, moreover, the past is a foreign country, both here and there. What really matters is the present. At least that we can see relatively clearly (even if we might not be able to understand it, yet). The future does not yet exist, but some say that it was once easier to predict. Ot maybe the future has always been an altar at which we venerate that which does not exist, trying to follow a line, which, however, uncannily leads us we know not where.

At this very same altar, in the name of a golden future, we make ignoble sacrifices. Scapegoats. But what we actually need is a bird, one of those birds that burn and then reemerge from the ashes. But there appear not to be any phoenixes in sight, or maybe phoenixes are like straight lines: they are there even if they are not visible. Wishful thinking? Maybe. It’s a question of perspective.

Eva Oddo

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.